


By the Living Pool

by StarSpray



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: You could not always count on the River-daughter to be in her pool when you arrived, even if you had heard her singing with the bluebirds only a moment before. Nengeleth had arrived more than once, out of breath, to find nothing more than a few ripples and the faint echo of laughter in the leaves. Other times she would find not Goldberry but old Iarwain Ben-adar, with hishey dol, merry doland other, sillier songs.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/gifts).



> written for Elleth's prompt "you are mobile as the veering air, / And all your charms more changeful than the tide", which is from a poem by Edna St Vincent Millay
> 
> title from Frodo's burst of poetry upon meeting Goldberry in FotR

Nengeleth moved carefully through the willow trees, following the sweet scent of water lilies, and the sound of singing. Sometimes Goldberry sang in languages Nengeleth knew, most often the Elven tongues, but other times, like now, there were no words at all in her music. Or at least, no words Nengeleth could hear. Most times she sang like this at the changing of the seasons, or when some great change in the weather was coming—and today Nengeleth could smell rain in the air. She quickened her pace, jumping over roots and ducking beneath swinging boughs. Her dress caught on brambles, but she didn’t let that slow her down.

You could not always count on the River-daughter to be in her pool when you arrived, even if you had heard her singing with the bluebirds only a moment before. Nengeleth had arrived more than once, out of breath, to find nothing more than a few ripples and the faint echo of laughter in the leaves. Other times she would find not Goldberry but old Iarwain Ben-adar, with his _hey dol, merry dol_ and other, sillier songs.

It was quite by accident that Nengeleth had first met her at all. She had wandered into the forest, remembering old frightening stories her nurse used to tell; she had not believed them, but wanted to see if there was a grain of truth. She’d discovered the twisting paths that she’d heard spoken of, that apparently appeared all by themselves (though later she’d learned they were Iarwain’s paths), and followed one of them until she came to a calm part of the river, with clear water and water lilies that filled the air with a heady perfume. And floating among the lilies had been a hat, wet and drooping, with a very sad looking feather stuck in the band. Nengeleth had fetched a long stick to try and fish the hat out of the water, curious about who would wear such a thing and how they might have lost it, but she had no sooner stuck the stick into the water than something had grabbed it, and with a single smart yank, Nengeleth had tumbled head over heels into the water, and there had met a rather startled Goldberry, who had thought she was Iarwain come back for his hat.

But today Goldberry was there, singing as she combed her long golden hair among the water lilies. A nightingale perched above her head, weaving its song in sweet harmony with the River-daughter. When Goldberry saw Nengeleth she smiled brightly, and when her song was done she waded through the blooming lilies to join Nengeleth on the grassy bank, greeting her with a kiss that tasted of wild honey. And by the time they parted, she had unfastened Nengeleth’s brooch from her cloak, letting the garment slip from her shoulders to the grass. “Come swim with me!”

Nengeleth eagerly stepped out of her dress and kicked off her shoes, plunging into the lily pool after Goldberry, who took her diving down to the depths where the lily roots were, and where silver fish darted between their legs and through their hair. And when Nengeleth grew tired—Goldberry never did—they lay in the sun on the grass until she got her breath back. As soon as she did, Goldberry rolled over and kissed her deeply.

Goldberry never seemed to make love the same way twice. At times it was like a summer squall, intense but brief, and Nengeleth would blink and Goldberry would be gone, slipped back beneath the lily pads without so much as a farewell kiss. Other times they would lie together all afternoon in blissful indolence beneath the hot summer sun, and on those days Nengeleth felt she could stay there by the river with Goldberry forever.

Today she was ravenous, insatiable, slowing and stopping only when Nengeleth begged for a reprieve. She smiled sweetly down at her, with her golden hair falling in a damp curtain around their heads, blocking out the rest of the world. Her eyes were clear as the river water, and deeper than the deepest pools; Nengeleth sometimes thought she might drown just looking into them. “Stay here with me,” Goldberry said, like she almost always did. Today she added, “A storm is coming.”

“I can’t,” Nengeleth replied, as she always had to. She wanted to stay, desperately, there in the river valley, surrounded by ancient trees and protected by whatever power Goldberry and Iarwain held over the land, but she could not.

“Then I shall walk with you,” Goldberry said, and she had never done that before. She kissed Nengeleth again before pulling away. Nengeleth dressed hurriedly, and nearly forgot her favorite brooch, set with flax-flower blue stones, in her haste. It was Goldberry who plucked it out of the grass and pinned it carefully to Nengeleth’s shoulder. Goldberry herself had donned a dress of pale green, shot with silver. She helped Nengeleth braid her hair, but her own remained loose, falling like a river of gold around her shoulders.

They walked hand in hand through the forest. Somewhere in the distance Nengeleth heard Iarwain singing some nonsense about badgers, but they did not encounter him on the pathways.

At the edge of the forest, on the downs, Goldberry drew Nengeleth close and kissed her, long and lingering. “Farewell, my pretty maid,” she said.

“Until next time,” Nengeleth said, smiling, and left the River-daughter at the edge of the forest.

 

There was to be no next time. Nengeleth did not know it, but Cardolen was to fall before the year was out. Hers was not a great family, and so her name would be left out of the old records, and history would not remember her.

But the River-daughter remembered, and when in after years Iarwain brought her a brooch set with stones blue as flax flowers, rescued from a wight’s barrow, she pinned it to her shoulder with a smile, remembering laughter and lingering kisses by the lily pool.


End file.
